The Flesh Project

FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY


As Setsume walked down the hall of the compound, the sound of her feet clicking on the ground was strange and exciting to her. The tall dickgirl hadn’t worn high heels in years- and even then, had only done so while playing “dress up” in the closet of a schoolmate’s mother. Her first fumbling steps back in those days had been embarrassing and potentially damaging to the ankles, but she had laughed nonetheless- being embarrassed by a mere fall was the least of her worries. If it meant being able to spend time at the house of an actual friend, she would have gladly fallen ten, or even a hundred times.

Like most of her early interactions, the friendship hadn’t lasted long (and, she noted ruefully, the girl in question had ended up spitting all over her on her apocalyptic last day of school) but she had never forgotten the reaction she got when she put on the heels.

“Wow, you’re so tall with those!”

Setsume had walked unsteadily in her direction, and then tripped, stumbling against the master bed. Her friend had laughed, and after one heart-stopping second, where Setsume paused to detect cruelty in the laugh, she started to chuckle as well, finding none. The memory lingered, even through the haze of years.

Even in those days Setsume had been pretty tall for her age. Now, standing on three-inch sabrina heels, she was 6’2”, an Amazonian height. As she walked slowly but surely down the hall, listening to the click of her own feet, she couldn’t help but notice how the shoes changed her posture, making her thrust her buttocks outward to keep balance, causing her hips to sway to a greater degree while walking.

No wonder men like this sort of thing, she thought.

Her hips weren’t the only thing swaying to a greater degree. Just below the hem of her black dress, the tip of her cock was swaying as well, tickling the insides of her thighs. Setsume’s fat length of meat wasn’t much smaller flaccid than erect- it maintained a very intimidating length and girth- but the difference of a few inches was enough to keep the head of it safely hidden beneath the bottom of her black cocktail gown.

Yeah, thought Setsume. It’s a cocktail gown, alright.

Liz had picked it out for her, going unerringly for a thin-strapped polyester dress, black decorated with black lace, the hemline augmented with flounces of differing pleats. It was elegant, but playful at the same time.

“She’ll like this,” the blonde had said, holding it out to Setsume. “Try it on.”

They had been in a long, featureless room that contained nothing but a long rack of various garments. The dresses had been part of their “prize” for being the most compelling “threesome” during the recent group exercise. While Setsume hadn’t really thought much of the idea of having to perform sexual stunts in order to get something as simple as new clothes, the other girls had assured her it would be fun- and as it turned out, the clothes were anything but mundane. Prada. Versace. Mizrahi. Expensive stuff. Expensive- and a little ominous. Setsume had started to understand the amount of money that must be flowing through the Project- to just have a rack of designer dresses and shoes brought into a compound in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, for all I know, she had thought, there’s a shopping mall across the street.

But that didn’t feel right to her. No- the Flesh Project compound felt far away from everything. Far enough to make the outside world feel like a distant memory. Far enough away that something as mundane as a dress-rack was like an alien lifeform in an otherwise empty room.

In the aftermath of the mandatory threesome event, Dr. Hardman had come to Setsume, Liz, and Sarah and informed them that they had won “the prize”. On the heels of that revelation, he had asked what sort of prize they might want. Immediately, the three women had started grilling the Doctor about exactly how much money was available for the prize (“feeling him out”, is how Liz had put it) and had received no real answer- only the vague assertion that there would be “enough”.

It was Setsume who had suggested they share their windfall with the other project members- and Liz and Sarah had enthusiastically agreed. That was the reason that, a week after the sexual trials where each Flesh Project member had proven given their all, the “care packages” had started to arrive. Clothes, books, DVD’s, favorite foods, video games, bath products- almost anything was fair game. Everyone had personally come to thank Setsume for generosity, but the young woman felt less like Santa Claus and more like a civil right advocate, getting in the ear of the establishment to secure even the most basic comforts.

I guess the bastard must have been in a good mood, thought Setsume. I barely had to twist his arm. In the absence of answers, updates, guarantees or communication of any kind from outside, they can at least give us some good old fashioned loot to tide things over.

The clicking of her heels echoed in her ears. A glittery black handbag was hung over one wrist, and she stroked it idly with a thumb while turning the situation over in her mind. It had been only a small victory, really. It wasn’t money Setsume had wanted, or any material thing- those things weren’t going to save anyone. It was information, and freedom. Anyone who could afford to run the Flesh Project had enough ready cash to keep her and her fellow subjects in dresses and lipstick until they were sixty years old and popping Viagra by the bucket.

We can’t let this go on forever. Can’t let them buy us into compliance. Can’t forget to question just how fucked up this all is.

She arrived at the door of her room. Her penis, docile during the walk, tingled with the knowledge of what awaited her. Exhaling dramatically, steeling her nerves, Setsume ran a hand down the rumpled front of her black dress, smoothing it, examining it for telltale bulges.

Her hand went to the doorknob, and she felt her worries slip away into the background, spilling out of the cauldron of her mind to be replaced by a fresh pour of adrenaline and expectation.

Tonight, don’t worry about it. Just enjoy it.

She opened the door.

Lola was waiting.

The older girl was just emerging from the bathroom, straightening the bust of her own black dress- a punky, wispy-skirted number that looked like something out of Blade Runner. Setsume knew instantly that it was probably not a new arrival, but part of Lola’s own person collection. Lola had a lot of clothes that looked like they’d been designed by Tim Burton- angular, grungy, gothic ensembles that were straight out of a chilly, frost-encrusted cyberpunk sowing machine. This dress was no exception- and on the raven-haired 19-year-old, the object of Setsume’s desire, it looked amazing. Setsume grinned when she realized Lola was wearing a pair of black and white Converse All-Star hightops. Her princess was always challenging black-tie conventions.

Lola’s green eyes lit up when she saw Setsume. She moved quickly across the room, and stopped short of her girlfriend to take in the full, close-range view of Setsume and her black dress.

“Hi!” Lola said, holding her hands together over the frilly cleavage-cut of her own gown. “I like your dress.” She moved a hand to Setsume’s hip, feeling the material. Her eyes seemed to struggle to take in the long, beautiful expanse of the younger girl’s body.

“How come you get to wear comfortable shoes, and I have to wear these?” replied Setsume, looking down to her black high-heels. “Liz made me put ‘em on.” She tried to sound annoyed, but there was a smile on face.

Lola stood on her tiptoes to bring her lips up to Setsume’s face, giving her a gentle kiss. “Leave them on,” she said, whispering into her lover’s neck after lowering herself back down. “I like them.”

“Ok,” Setsume said, smiling. “I can’t refuse you anything. Not tonight.”

Lola ran a hand down the front of Setsume’s dress. The 16-year-old had the appearance of a runway model- with the added length from the high-heeled shoes, her legs seemed to take up 2/3 of the length of her fabulous body.

“Can’t refuse anything, huh?” Lola’s voice was deliberately suggestive. A naughty devil’s voice.

“Nothing,” confirmed Setsume.

Lola went up on tiptoes again, ankles straining inside her hightops. “I don’t see it,” she whispered in Setsume’s ear. Her tone was playful, speculative. “That special part of you. Is it hiding from me?”

She kissed Setsume on the mouth again, enjoying the feeling of the dickgirl’s pretty lips on her own. Setsume began to wonder, though the velvet softness of her partner’s embrace, if they’d actually make it to dinner- or simply doff their dresses and start fucking on the floor. She looked past Lola’s head to see a small, circular table, decked out with lavender tablecloth and a silver place-setting, including a large, lidded tray, the sort you see in fancy restaurants. There were two chairs pulled out- waiting for them. Setsume was reminded of the two glasses she had taken with her to the cafeteria on the night she had first kissed Lola. She took Lola’s hand in her own, and began to lead her.

“I’m nervous,” said Setsume.

“Why?”

“Because this is my first date.”

Lola giggled. “Oh, Sumie. Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” They had reached the table. The large silver tray, with its dome-like lid, was flanked by two plates, one for each of them. The smell rising from it was pleasant. “I didn’t exactly grow up as the talk of the male townsfolk.”

Lola rubbed Setsume’s hip, enjoying the warmth and softness of her body. “Well, don’t worry. You’re already way ahead of most people.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lola took Setsume’s hand, entwining the long fingers with her own. “Most people don’t get to have their first date with someone who loves them.”

Lola embraced her, as if to cast the point in iron, laying a soft cheek against the bare skin of her neck. It was all Setsume could do not to cry. The hotness of her thick cock began to tingle, the beginnings of a powerful erection.

“Thank you,” Setsume said.

They separated then, each taking a seat. Setsume rubbed her eyes as she looked across the table at her counterpart, who was grinning at her. “You must be pretty easy,” she joked. “Saying you love me so quickly on the first date. You might be bad for my reputation.”

Lola laughed. “Well, if I’m going to be a skank, I try to pick worthy targets.” She turned one burning emerald eye toward the silver tray setting. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Setsume said, unrolling her utensils from the nearby napkin. “There’s something about eating a few feet away from my bed that makes me enthusiastic. Want to do the honors?”

“Ok!” said Lola, and the shorter girl used one pale, smooth arm to hoist up the silver lid. An outrush of flavorful scents immediately wafted out. There were two delicious-looking plates of pasta on the tray- along with a handwritten card. Pinned to the card was a small “Hello Kitty” refrigerator clip.

Setsume scooped it up and examined the message.

Enjoy, you lovebirds! – Mikura

An arrow below the text indicated to turn the card over.

I helped! - April

There were several hearts drawn below the girl’s name. Neither Lola nor Setsume could help but smile.

“That’s so cute!” said Lola.

“She really is a very nice woman,” said Setsume. “We should do something to show her our appreciation.”

Lola raised a mischievious eyebrow. “Oooh- something to show her our appreciation, huh? I can think of a few things she might enjoy.”

Setsume waved her off. “Not like that!” The black-haired dickgirl paused. “Well, maybe like that-“

Lola smiled and nodded.

“-but we should thank her as well. And the kid,” Setsume continued. “It’s nice to see everyone starting to come together.”

“You’re the one who is bringing us together, Sumie,” said Lola, moving a hand across the table to take Setsume’s fingers into her palm. “Ever since we got here, you’ve been the one. I’m really proud of you. You’re younger than I am, and you’re doing things I could never do. I don’t know what I would do without you. When I’m with you- I feel like I’m so alive, I could take on the world. When you’re not here, my universe seems to tilt, and spin me in all directions, I don’t know which way is up. You’re a guiding star for me, when everything else is dark- it’s like I called for you and you were there.”

The two locked eyes.

“I’m babbling. I’m sorry.”

Setsume squeezed Lola’s hand. “It’s ok. I could tell you what I think about you, but I’d never stop talking.” As she spoke, she used an off-hand to move first one plate and then another to their appropriate places. “I’d fall asleep sitting down here, with the name ‘Lola’ in my mouth, I think.”

Setsume examined Lola to see if the raven-haired cutie was going to make another double-entendre of some kind, then looked down at her plate. “This is going to be good. I’m so fucking tired of white rice and teriyaki chicken- a few more days and I was going to offer to fuck the cook just to get something worthwhile.”

Lola laughed. “You could pimp me out to the cook. I’m pretty good in bed.”

Then, both girls started laughing. Setsume almost choked on her first mouthful of pasta. She coughed through a half-chewed wad of fettucini alfredo. “I bet I could get a lot more for you than the promise of some decent food. Maybe we could barter our way out of this place.”

The eating had started in earnest. “Would you actually want to leave?” Lola asked, in between bites. “You’re helping everyone else here so much- I’m not sure what we’d do without you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t leave without taking you, of course,” said Setsume. “But the Flesh Project is starting to really bother me. Part of it is the things they make us do- I think we may be damaging our ability to ever have meaningful sex again. Don’t quote me on that. More important, I don’t see anything to indicate that they’re making good on their promises. They promised me a place to stay and a bunch of money. If there’s some magical account out there with my name on it, I haven’t heard shit about it.”

Lola was thoughtful. “Well, the contract was for eighteen months. It’s only been a month and a half. I know it isn’t anything like we expected, but-“

“Don’t say ‘contract’ when it’s just not one,” interrupted Setsume. “At least a person can breach a contract. This is more like a prison term. Lack of transparency, no contact with the outside, rapist guards- I’d say ‘isn’t anything like we expected’ is being kind.”

Lola pointed her fork at Setsume while chewing a mouthful of pasta. “You’re cute when you’re all fired up. But they also promised you a place where you could meet other people like you. Make friends. And…well, look what you’re doing now.” Lola winked. Her face, painted lightly with makeup, was a vision of dark loveliness.

Setsume looked down at her plate. “I guess that’s true,” she said. “But I’d rather be walking in the park with you, than stuck in here.” She looked up at Lola. “I’m worried we won’t last 18 months in this place. That what we have won’t make it out alive, like a great monument that crumbles after 10,000 years of constant erosion, you know? I think the Flesh Project kills love. I think it wrings every last gram of lust and money it can, and leaves love to die. And the thought of not loving you, it scares me. Nothing can last forever unless you take care of it- let it out into the sun where it can grow.”

Lola looked up at Setsume, smiled, and then leaned down to the side of the table, rummaging for something. “I almost forgot this,” she said, head below the tablecloth. When she came upright again, she was holding a bottle of wine.

“I was going to save this for later, but I’ll open it now,” said Lola. “I think we could both use it.”

“Wine?”

“Don’t laugh. I don’t know much about wine, but I heard from a reliable, and extremely large-chested source that this is good stuff. I think we should take a drink before things get too morbid. No need to bury our good times when they’re alive and well.”

“I guess you’re right.”

There were wine-glasses with the place setting. They would have look absurdly out of place in the utilitarian room any other time, but next to the silver tray and the fancy tablecloth, they were a final, Project-defying touch. The two girls could have been in an Italian restaurant somewhere, listening to Dean Martin. Lola poured after popping the cork, and each of the two dinner companions examined their glass like it was some sort of unfamiliar delicacy. Which, in a way, it was.

“I heard somewhere you’re supposed to let wine breathe,” ventured Setsume. “You poured that pretty fast.”

Lola winked. “Well, like I said, I know fuck-all about wine, so…there you go.” She held her glass before her eyes. The wine was a rich, burgundy color. “Supposedly, this stuff is supposed to go very well with dinner. I guess our days of drinking just to get hammered are over. Now, it’s an integral part of the dining experience.”

Both girls laughed again, the light sound of simple enjoyment. They had never had dinner together before. At least, not like this. Plenty of munching on noodles and boneless chicken breasts while wearing nightclothes or sweatpants, but nothing like this.

“So I take it I’m not supposed to chug this,” said Setsume. She took an experimental sip and grimaced. “Ugh!”

Lola chuckled, and then reached across the table to collect some pasta noodles with Setsume’s fork. “Here,” she said, bringing the food to Setsume’s lips. “Try it with some food.”

Lola took pleasure in watching her girlfriend’s mouth open, pretty lips parting gently to accept the forkful of alfredo-basted pasta noodles. Setsume closed her eyes, as if preparing herself for the taste. Her lips were lightly painted with pink, giving them a sexy shine. Lola felt her body shiver at the intimacy of the act. She moved the fork into Setsume’s mouth, brushing the noodles ever so slightly against the inside of her upper lip, leaving a small smear of sauce- and then Setsume bit down lightly, eating what was offered. The movement of her angular, youthful face was enough to make Lola begin to melt inside her dress.

Setsume opened her eyes and met Lola’s gaze. The 16-year-old seemed to chew slowly, savoring the taste, allowing the fleck of light colored sauce to rest on her upper lip for a moment before snaking out her agile tongue to collect it. The sound coming from her mouth was the international, culture-crossing emanation of an eater who is savoring a tasty morsel- a long, almost orgasmic utterance of “Mmmmm…”

“Good?” asked Lola. Her voice was suggestive.

“Yeah,” Setsume replied.

“They say wine clears the palette. Maybe they’re on to something.”

“Maybe.”

Lola gestured toward the wall of Setsume’s room- indicating the posters that were hanging there. The black and white poster of a boxer, yelling victorious over a fallen foe, had once against drawn her attention. The poster itself was dog-eared, with white-ridged creases in several corners- as if it had been much-loved. Lola imagined that it had probably followed with Setsume, from bedroom wall to bedroom wall, for quite a while.

“Who is that in the boxing poster?” asked Lola. “I recognize it from somewhere.”

“That’s Muhammed Ali,” said Setsume, and Lola brought a hand to her forehead.

“Oh man, I feel stupid,” Lola replied. “I mean, I know who he is- I just, you know…”

“Don’t feel stupid,” said Setsume. “A person can’t know everything. This picture was taken right after he knocked down Sonny Liston. It’s a famous photo.”

“Was that a big deal?”

“Huge,” Setsume continued. “But boxing isn’t really why I keep that poster. I keep it because of what Ali meant.”

Lola leaned back in her chair, chewing more pasta. Learning something about Setsume, anything, was all she had wanted out of this night. “What did he do?”

“Well, he once fought this guy, George Foreman, in Africa. The Rumble In The Jungle.”

“George Foreman? You mean the guy with the grill?”

“The same. But he was a much different George Foreman then. He was a young, unbeatable champion who was a huge oddsmaker’s favorite over Ali. But Ali was the favorite of the people.” Setsume paused to take a drink of wine. “Everyone thought Ali was going to lose. They thought he should have been terrified of Foreman. But Ali explained it in a way I’ll never forget.” Setsume’s eyes became reflective, lost in the telling of the story.

“He said that the knowledge of the good things he had done, and could do for people, the things he could accomplish for Africa as a result of the fight, would fill him. That he wouldn’t even feel Foreman’s punches- that George Foreman’s right hand would just bounce off of him. Knowing what his victory meant to everyone, the lives it would touch, he could move not just George Foreman, but mountains. With everyone in his heart, he could change the world.”

Setsume ran a finger over the rim of her wineglass. “But if he were to fight thinking only about himself, shutting all the people out, thinking only of the money and the fame- George Foreman would be gigantic, an unbeatable force. He would be afraid.”

Setsume looked up at Lola. “That’s the way I feel in this place. I think I’d fall apart if I were to do this by myself. Collapse with fear. But if I let myself dream about what it would mean to bring you and everyone else with me out of this whole fucking mess, toward somewhere beautiful and bright, where we can live, and love- I feel like I can move mountains. This place is our Zaire, I think. Our jungle.” She looked determined. “The Flesh Project and I are going to get it on. Because we don’t get along.”

There was silence. “How can you be only 16?” Lola whispered, eyes wide, reverent. “The way you make me feel- I don’t understand.”

Setsume reached down to the side of the table, where her black handbag was resting. She opened it with a snap, and removed something- a small, decorative black box with a ribbon tied to it.

“This is for you,” she said, offering the box to Lola.

“Oh, wow,” Lola stammered. She placed one hand at her ample chest, feeling the palpitations there. “Wow. My heart is pounding.” With two agile, pale hands, the 19-year-old opened the box- to reveal a silver bracelet, many links of gleaming chain linked to an engraved plate. And emblazoned on the plate were words.

SUMIE + LOLA FOREVER

Lola could do little but look- as if she were regarding an object that might, by her very movement, her very breath, shatter into a million pieces. Slowly, she let her breath flow out in an exhale, and turned her emerald eyes to meet the grey soul-windows of the gift giver.

“Kiss me,” she said.

Setsume said nothing- only leaned across the table slightly, bracing herself with her palms. Lola leaned out to meet her, and their lips became entwined in a hard, powerful seal, a passionate kiss, breath rushing from their respective noses in gasps, teeth brushing together. They both came simultaneously to the idea of adding tongues to the mix, and so it happened, two lovely pink mouth muscles intertwining in the wet midst of the encounter. Lola broke the symmetry by hungrily sucking Setsume’s tongue into her own mouth, slurping at it like a popsicle. She brought a hand up to caress Setsume’s perky left breast, feeling the stuff nipple through the sheer fabric of the cocktail dress, rubbing a thumb around it, feeling the perfect, teenage weight of it pile up beneath the pressing palm of her hand.

“Mmm!” gasped Setsume, moving a hand down to rub against Lola’s wrist. Lola broke away from the kiss.

“Sit down,” she whispered, lips slick and sexy. “Just sit back and enjoy.” Setsume had no sooner collapsed back into her seat when Lola bent by her seat and lifted the tablecloth. On hands and knees, she crawled under it, wiggling her ass suggestively as it protruded from the frilly bell of her unique black dress. Setsume could see that Lola was wearing a black thong. The sway of her sexy behind was almost hypnotic- twin globes of perfect, pale flesh swaying from side to side. Then, even that gorgeous caboose disappeared, and Lola was hidden beneath the table.

Setsume closed her eyes and let her legs go slack. Her cock was tenting her dress up beneath the table, emerging slightly from it, the big prickhead pressed up against the bottom of the table.

“Oooh!” Lola said, voice muffled slightly by her hidden location. “You naught little girl, you’re not wearing any panties.” This was a half joke. Setsume didn’t wear panties at all. On any given day, she was usually freeballing comfortably beneath a pair of black and white Nike warmup pants, or maybe a cute jogging suit. In fact, the force of one of her erections was sometimes sufficient to rip flimsy panties completely off of her body. On one memorable occasion from her previous years, her cockhead had become trapped under her waistband on the way to erection, bending into a horseshoe shape before finally tearing her undergarments and firing them away from her body with the force of a catapult. Those present had found it extremely funny. But she didn’t much want to remember that occasion, or the two years surrounding it. She wanted to be here, with Lola. Her girl.

“Mmmph!” gasped Lola, and Setsume could feel the head of her prick become immersed in the wetness of a female mouth. A tongue was flicking all over her girth. Setsume clawed at her chair, overtaken with ecstasy.

“Oh god!” Setsume gasped. “You’re so good!”

“Sumie, your cock is so beautiful!” Lola hissed, before driving her mouth back upon it, fellating it worshipfully, like a sorceress paying homage to the dark powers that fuel her. Like a tablecloth-cloaked druidess trying to appease the very gods that regulate her existence. She was sucking Setsume’s dick like the liquid inside it could cure a terminal disease that had rendered her only one day more to live. The sounds of her oral ministrations were wet, thick, and enthusiastic. Setsume gasped as Lola let her mouth go solo and moved her capable hands to the jutting shaft before her, gripping it with fingers that could not reach all the way around, jacking it up and down, teasing it with stinging, sensuous fingernails.

Lola drew her mouth off of Setsume’s cock again, and Setsume could tell from the sound of her voice that her mouth was partially full of sticky precum. “You’re leaking so much into my mouth,” burbled Lola, exhaling through her nose. Her voice was the sound of a bitch in heat, an eager, sexy rasp. “I want to drink it all!” She resumed her sucking, driving her tongue into Setsume’s pisshole, licking around the sticky opening, allowing small eruptions of watery girljizz to paint the insides of her mouth. Setsume was slouched back in her chair, eyes ablaze with cock-hardening, impossibly erotic sensations.

“You’re going to make me cum! I don’t want to ruin your dress!”

Lola again drew her mouth back, but kept stroking Setsume’s massive girth. “I like the idea of you staining this dress. I bet you could turn it completely white. Make it virginal with your seed. Return me to innocence by cumming all over me!”

“We…still need…to visit Mikura!” said Setsume, panting. “We promised…the party!”

Lola chuckled. “Alright, little miss social butterfly. I’ll keep myself clean by swallowing every drop. Come on. Come in my mouth! It’s dirty. Wash it out with your sperm!”

“Oh god!” Setsume gasped again, ass tensing, as a minor orgasm ripped through her spasming cock. She felt her cockhead slide back between Lola’s lips, sight unseen, and then the familiar sensation of thick, powerful blasts of jizz blasting from her pisshole.

“Auglh!” gasped Lola from around her dick. The amount was staggering, and it ricocheted off the back of Lola’s mouth like a Super-Soaker blast, burying her back teeth in a torrent of girlsperm. Additional eruptions piled upon it, and soon the amount filling Lola’s mouth was obscene- a cheek stretching, tongue-swirling load. She cleared her windpipe by gulping down a large amount of the emerging baby-batter, but more was on the way, and even as the warm of it was sliding down her gullet, Lola’s mouth began to fill again. Setsume, from her place above the table, could hear Lola’s sperm-muffled squeaks of pleasure, her raspy nose-breathing, and most tantalizingly of all, the syrupy swallows of her feverishly-working throat. The sound alone made it easy to visualize just how much of her semen was being unloaded into her older lover- and how eagerly she was absorbing it into her body. Her orgasm subsided in time with Lola’s swallows. As they decreased in frequency, so too did her spurts- until at last Setsume was spent.

Lola moved her sticky mouth off of Setsume’s cock and began to bathe it gently, cleaning it, using her mouth to leave it immaculate. “I can’t offer you anything,” she said, softly, still below the tablecloth. “Except all of myself.” Setsume felt Lola’s body slide upward, felt hands on her knees, and the weight of Lola’s sexy chest sliding over her deflating cock. Then, like a magic trick, Lola’s head emerged from beneath the tablecloth on her side, chin on Setsume’s lap, looking her in the eye.

“Don’t ever leave me,” Lola continued. “I swear, I will never leave you. I want you to be part of me, forever. I can feel you inside me, right now. I love the feeling of your...stuff... inside me. Your hotness. The amount of it, there’s so much. I can feel it sliding down, inside me. And I like it. It’s a part of you I can keep.”

Setsume, still panting, ran a hand through Lola’s hair. “I won’t leave you. I promise. You’re my girl, remember?”

Lola laid her head sideways on Setsume’s lap, letting her lover pet her, savoring the feeling. “You don’t understand how hot you make me. It’s more than anything I’ve ever felt. But that’s not even half of it. You make me so happy. I can tell you’re special. I feel like I’m dating a revolutionary, but before the revolution. Maybe it’s coming. I feel like I want to be part of it, whatever you do. Part of your life, and the keeper of your beautiful, beautiful cock.” Lola rolled her eyes up to look at Setsume. “Does that sound stupid? I just- I barely have the words to describe it.”

“No, special one. It doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds- like my dream. It’s what I’ve dreamed of hearing. For sixteen years. That someone gives a damn.”

Lola’s stomach gurgled slightly, audible even below the table, and both girls chuckled softly. “You came so much,” marveled Lola. “I feel so satisfied- and you didn’t even fuck me. I feel like- I don’t know…everything is right with the world. I don’t know if I’m drunk, or what.”

Setsume continued to stroke Lola softly. “You’re not drunk. We're just happy, that's all. We got to have dinner together- have a date with someone special. This is what normal people feel, all the time. It’s what we deserve to feel. All of us.” She paused, and though Lola could not see it, her eyes became half-lidded and hard. “This feeling is why we’ve got to get out of here.”

“But this is what they promised us,” whispered Lola. “This what they said we’d find.”

“They never meant for it to happen. Nobody involved with this operation could possibly know the first thing about love. You can’t put love a quarterly earnings report, you can’t roll it up and take it to the fucking bank. And now that we have it- it’s our opiate. It’s keeping us docile for them. Lola, I want to be together with you on our own terms.”

Setsume looked back over her shoulder, eyes moving over the poster. Ali, flooring Liston, yelling in triumph. Pure intensity. The early moments of a man who would change the world. “I won’t give in,” she whispered. “Fuck the Flesh Project."

But her anger was not shared. Lola, for all Setsume had said, couldn’t help but like the Flesh Project a little. Whatever the intentions- it had brought her to the side of Setsume, who she hoped to love forever. Beyond all. Until a time when the Flesh Project, and whatever intentions had formed it, good or bad, had crumbled to dust.


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Dear miss lorelai

i dont really know how to say this to you but i think maybe i should go back to staying with my mother

i luv you very much, honest, but sometimes i dont understand why you get mad at me so much and i dont understand why you wouldnt let me go to see my sister. what scared me was not how sad i felt that you didnt let me go but (sry, its hard to expain) i think i kinda wanted you to get really mad at me and thats why i asked you to go when i knew youd hate it

when you hurt me that night (you remember what you did) i felt pain but also i felt like i planned it and i liked it. i dont understand why. it scares me. and it sometimes its like you want me to be scared. but (i thought about this for a long time) if you love someone you shouldnt want them to be scared you should just love them and want them to be happy

when i asked you 'i love you, dont you love me' and you said nothing, that hurt so much. i understand what you said about pain but that is one way i dont want to be hurt

please dont get mad at me I will come and visit you all the time

i still love you

miss you

luv you


Ashley


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The young boy looked at what he had painstakingly written while his goddess slept. His heart was pounding faster than it ever had. His indigo hair brushed his neck lightly as he closed his eyes, trying to muster the courage to place the letter on the table, as he had planned, and then step out the door.

But he could not do it. Could not anger the sky. Did not want to risk offending the platinum angel who filled his every day with sun, even as she tormented him. Too much fear. Fear of pain, but more than that- fear of never feeling her pain again.

Knowing it was the wrong decision, his small, delicate hands crumpled the paper. Ashley disposed of the sheet in the garbage can under the sink, burying it deep, making sure it would never be found.